All Along The Watchtower
by TheBaronsVeve
Summary: From enemies, to lovers, to spouses, Loki and Tony Stark have watched battles come and go. But when the Skrulls invade Earth, The Avengers secret weapon backfires, sending Loki into another dimension where a corrupt government wages war on it's own people. Separated by space and time, Tony tries desperately to return his lover from the reaches of the wormhole he vanished into while


**742 Days Ago**

The blinking red light in the corner of the HUD was barely enough to catch his attention as he felt a surge of energy push him back against the earth. It was complete chaos all around him, both inside and outside of the suit. He was sure that he'd broken a fair number of ribs and from the taste of copper in his mouth, he'd ruptured something somewhere and he was likely internally hemorrhaging.

"Tony!" The undeniable tenor of Captain America reached him even through the helmet and before long he heard a wretched sounding pop and the energy that had him pinned released in a burst.

"Nice timing, Cap."

With a grunt, Tony stood to his feet and was almost successful staying there. Steve caught the shoulders of the suit and gripped for all her was worth, but despite his strength, the deadweight of the suit pushed him back a little, his feet digging into the dirt.

"We have to take you out, Tony. Much more of this-"

Tony saw the impact, and then felt it. A ship fell clear out of the sky above them and if they'd been standing ten feet to the left it would have crushed them completely to a pulp.

Luckily, they were standing ten feet to the right. Steve Rogers hauled Tony up into a sitting position and placed a hand to his ear. "Who is closest to my position? I need eyes on Iron Man. A Skrull warship has just descended."

The secure line crackled and fizzed in Steve's ear and for a moment he feared that the fight had taken a turn for the worst. It wouldn't have been hard to believe. The devastation of the city was appalling with the scent of death, decay, and ash replacing the smog of New York.

Thankfully, the voice of Hawkeye, once drenched in sarcasm and dry wit, came over the comms, "I'm right behind you, Cap. You take the ship and her crew, I've got the man in the can."

From inside the suit, Tony scoffed. "I resent that."

And just like that, the Star Spangled Man took off with guns blazing towards the recently descended warship. That was when Tony took greater notice of the blinking red light.  
"On screen notification six."

The picture displayed before his eyes was fuzzy and crackling, like static in an old TV set but there was no denying who's face was beyond all the white noise.

"Reindeer Games. How you holding up?" He sputtered as a rivulet of blood began to trail down his lips and dribbled onto his stubble covered chin.

"How's our secret weapon doing?" He added on a cough.

Loki's pale skin and blazing green eyes were all Tony could clearly make out at this point and that was fine with him. If all he could ever see for the rest of his life (which, he mused, might not be as long as he though an hour ago) was a set of blazing green eyes narrowed in frustration, he'd be a happy man.

He realized that all of his musing had taken almost a full minute and Loki had yet to respond.

"Lokes?"

In an instant, Hawkeye was in his sights, shouting something into his own comm and turning wide eyes on Tony. Tony cocked a brow in question before he deduced the uselessness of the gesture when wearing the helmet.

"Anthony…..fluctuations…..closing...can't….."

Even through the terrible signal and the broken communication, Tony could hear what he perceived to be fear in the god's voice. A chill shot down his spine even though his cooling system had long since malfunctioned.

"Loki? What's-"

"I'm sorry, Anthony. I cannot understand what you are saying. It is not all coming through."  
Tony gritted his teeth in frustration. This was such a simple problem. Fucking static in their comms. He glanced up just in time to see Hawkeye slide to his knees and stare straight into the place where Tony's eyes lay behind the helmet.

"Tony! He did it. We fucking won!" Hawkeye was shouting, but Tony waved him off, trying hard to focus on the voice and image of his lover.

"Loki!"

"Anthony. The wormhole. It is pulling me in and there's….nothing…do. I lost engine two a few moments ago. I'm sorry. "

Dread that had coiled in the pit of Tony's stomach at the first hint of fear in Loki's words unfurled into horror as Loki's message became clear. Up above them, beyond the troposphere, his husband had opened a wormhole with its end point in a sun. The Skrull command ship and base would be pulled in. All they would need to do now was eliminate the Skrull soldiers that remained on Earth and they would defeat the invasion.

But, Loki couldn't escape the pull. Loki couldn't get out.

Loki was going to die.

"Anthony? Are…there?"

Tony was frozen into silence. He watched as Steve stepped out of the hull of the Skrull's felled ship, coated in the alien's blood. He watched as high above him, more ships began their final descent; their final battle against the human race.

They were going to lose. The archer at his side was busying himself fighting off the foot soldiers making attempts on their lives and all Tony could do was sit in that stunned silence, contemplating the misery of life without Loki.

He couldn't even open his goddamned mouth to say, "I love you" or "It's okay. I'm so proud of you. Thank you for making everything make sense." or even something as pitiful as, "Good-bye."

"I love you, Anthony. "

The snap and recoil of Hawkeye's bow. The sound of bone snapping, and cracking, and crunching. The smell of death, decay, ash, and victory. The taste of salt on his tongue. Moisture on his cheeks.

"Loki…"

In an anticlimactic end, the image on the HUD winked out of existence and along with it, the love of Tony Stark's life.

* * *

**Present Day**

The explosion knocked all six of them from the side street, the shrapnel from the bomb nearly lobbing off Vaughn's arm at his shoulder. He wound up slamming into the top of the rusted SUV a few feet away with blood spilling from his clavicle in great waves that stained the damaged hood of the vehicle with it's crimson flow. He gave a loud and poignant curse, pulling his ruined legs up onto the hood and clumsily scrambling off the side of the vehicle and in behind it. So, it was shield now.

A very shitty, foreign made shield. With his blood on it.

Great.

"Where's Fi?! I didn't-"

"Right here!" A shorter girl with dark skin and white locks bound on the top of her head leapt out from the still clearing smoke, stumbling against some of the debris but picking herself up and continued on in a dead run for the vehicle to join Vaughn.

Sliding around the corner just as the second explosion nearly leveled the whole block of decrepit buildings, Fiona was hauled off her feet and pummeled into the earth with a solid Vaughn shaped shield protecting her from any more objects that might come hurling through the air.

The two stayed huddled in the deafening, post explosion silence until thundering footsteps and voices took over.  
"Insurgents! By the authority of Emperor Marshall you are ordered to stand down and surrender. The sooner you comply, the more mercy he may be inclined to show."  
Vaughn snorted a laugh.

"Yeah. That'll be the day. " To which Fiona sent him a withering glare and gave his arm a good smack. Vaughn winced and pointed to the bone and muscle haphazardly threading his arm in place, the entire limb hanging somewhat to the left.

"Fuck. You. Mother. Fuckers!"

That was most certainly Marko. Vaughn and Fiona heard the collective cocking of what was probably upwards of fifty semi-automatics that all pointed in a single direction. Vaughn rolled his eyes and managed to turn his body a few degrees and peer at the bloodied mirror hanging off the side of the SUV. Yep. Marko was holed up behind what was once the most popular food truck in the lower West Side with all guns aimed at the large taco with the words "Marshall Law" scrawled inside like some kind of misfit condiment.

"We have the authority to shoot to kill on sight. Stand down, insurgents."

Vaughn gave another curse and risked another quick look out over the street littered with vehicles from the days before 'Marshall Law', pavement stained with the collected blood, dust, and filth of a desperate and hopeless people. "Shit. This could get messy real quick."  
Vaughn hated depending on anyone other than himself.

People had an uncanny tendency to let him down and now that these people depended on him? He couldn't afford to depend on anyone else.

"Where the hell is he?"

Vaughn hissed as Marshall's guards began their countdown to open fire on Marko and the Taco Haven.

* * *

The gods be damned engine wouldn't turn over. He could hear the count down in the distance and gave a furious yell while sending a combat boot smashing into the back wheel of bike. He slung one long leg over the thing, being sure to give another kick to the wheel that had lost its tread long ago, and sighed heavily.

Marko was going to slaughtered and it was all thanks to Sleipnir. Sleipnir the bike. Sleipnir the gods damned malfunctioning piece of shit-

The engine turned.

"Yes!"

Gripping both the leather bound handles, Loki Stark kicked up the stand and lurched the bike forward towards the setting sun and the New World Order army who had just collectively called out '1'. With the simple flip of a switch the two wonderfully high caliber, six barrel machine guns dropped down and Loki pulled his legs up onto the black leather seat, putting him in a rather uncomfortable crouching position.

But for the trade off of machine guns, he could live with uncomfortable. The wind pushed back the sweat slicked ebony locks from his face and he gave a deep chuckle as the horizon of military grade weapons and uniforms grew ever closer, "JARVIS. Cue up Hendrix, if you would."

JARVIS, of course, did not respond. The AI had been offline for the entire two years he had been here, but sometimes Loki found himself calling to the system anyways. Perhaps even just for nostalgia's sake. He began to hum the familiar tune after a, "Thank you, JARVIS."

_There must be some way out of here, said the joker to the thief _

It was then (finally) that the militia noticed the sound of the bullet chains feeding into the guns and began to turn their attention from the taco cart to the motorcycle cavalcade consisting of a single avenging angel. Before most of them had a chance to train their guns on him, Loki had tied the throttle down and was preparing to rise to his feet.

It was a practiced move-and it had to be, considering one false move could send the rider to the dirt with enough bullet holes in them to demolish a concrete wall.

"Fall back! Stand do-"

Loki grinned and pulled the two reworked sawed offs from his hips holding them out at arms length and facing the militia men, who he had now nearly reached. They didn't stand a chance. The automatics on the bike took out half of them in under twenty seconds, and his own sawed off shotguns downed a few more, but that was nothing compared to what the other insurgents did the moment they knew they weren't outgunned.

_There's too much confusion here. I can't get no relief_

The New World Army had their high powered military grade tech weaponry and yet they were no match for the insurgents wielding shivs, Molotov cocktails, and a fury borne passion to annihilate their enemies. Heads were lopped from necks with home made machetes and sent rolling into the growing fire in the center of the street accompanied by the shouts of victory from the insurgents. Shells littered the street on either side of him, and with his shotguns out of bullets, Loki prepared to return into his crouching position.

He noted one last bullet in the gun in his right hand and found a suitable target for it in a soldier aiming his own weapon at the upright rider. It was in that miscalculated moment of diverted attention that one of the soldiers who'd climbed atop an overturned tank for a better vantage point rifle butted Loki in the face. As his world tilted at a harsh angle, the only thought occupying Loki's head was , '_I hope Sleipnir will be alrigh_t'.

There was the sickening thud that came as he connected with the pavement below, accompanied by a cracking sound that likely was not a sign of good health to come. The barrels of the gun he was staring down were not a positive indicator, either. He could taste the blood that had begun to drain down his throat from the clearly broken nose he'd suffered and when the soldier who'd managed to put him down screamed at him to get on his feet, Loki spit a mouthful at him. It painted the black barrel of the gun with bright garnet that began to drip back down onto Loki's face.

"I'll get on my feet when you get in the ground." he replied through gritted teeth, glistening with the red liquid smeared over them.

The man's face didn't betray any kind of emotion behind the helmet drenched in blood as he placed the gun against Loki's forehead.  
So, this was the inglorious way he was going to finally go out. How utterly unexpected. With a sly little smirk he mused, that, at least it had not been the Skrull.

He hoped Tony would understand.

The sound of the gunshot ricocheted off the derelict buildings that lined the unused street and Loki was surprised to feel the heavy weight of the soldier pin him against the pavement. Not to mention the fist sized hole through his skull that was leaking blood all over him. The blinding sun came back in view as the body was hauled off of him, only to be blotted out once more by a man with pale blue eyes and long blond dreadlocks offering him a hand.

"Up! Up! Get up!" he hissed at Loki, barely waiting until he had a grip on his hand before pulling him onto his feet.

Loki narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on what was in front of him only to lose his footing amongst the rubble and stumble a bit. Hands looped under his arms and drug him back to his feet, and Loki realized there was another arm wrapped around his waist. "Fucking shit, Loki, you asshole! If I get my ass shot out here because I have to haul your pale, scrawny ass around I swear I am gonna come back from motherfuc-"

"If you would give me more than two seconds to gather my-"

"Two seconds? We have two whole seconds?"

That was certainly Fiona, her high pitch carrying over the commotion that stirred all around them, her uncannily recognizable, biting sarcasm still strong given the gravity of the situation. "Make sure we have the others..and..I'd like to get…Sleipnir."

Marko gave a dramatic moan and hauled Loki further on down the street, picking up insurgent stragglers as they went. "That stupid bike. One of these days I swear to God, it's actually gonna get us killed."

Loki straightened his aching spine and shot the blonde an affronted glare, spiteful at the insults being hurled upon his beloved bike. "Funny, it just saved your life."  
The three men were soon joined by Fiona, who looked no worse for the wear even with the thick streak of mud plastered against her tan skin. But beyond that, her smile was cunning and bright. She always had the talent of lifting spirits and now was no exception.

That being said, the mass exodus of the New World Army could have helped with that. The blood ran freely in the streets, covering the worn out soles of shoes barely held together by tape and makeshift laces. It gave their footfalls a sticky sound as they pushed their way into the crowd gathered around the impromptu fire who were blood drunk with their newfound victory. The voices that shouted and sang rose far beyond the flames, growing thick and heady against the crimson sky.

Vaughn gave a split second glance at Marko who already looked intoxicated by the flames, the frantic singing, and the harried dancing and Vaughn knew it wouldn't be long before the man slipped beneath the undulating wave. He'd be lost to it soon. Loki pulled out of his grip and before he even opened his mouth, Vaughn knew he would be heading off to find his bike while the others basked in the victory.

"I'm going to find Sleipnir." He said as he wiped the back of his arm under his nose that left a long streak of blood down his arm.

It was a stark contrast to his ivory skin and for some reason, gave Vaughn chills. "Right. We'll meet you back in the hangar in a few hours."

He watch the man walk off, occasionally tilting to the side and bending forward to try and expel all the blood from his nose as well as minding the bodies strewn about the pavement.

The guy was strange.

Always had been and he probably would be for as long as he stayed with them. But he sure as hell could build a build a decent bomb and over the past two years had proved more useful than not, so "_Loki Stark of 10-8-80 Malibu Point. Oh and 200 Park Avenue, Manhattan. Oh! Wait. And 6121 Kirkstone Lane, Windermere." as he'd called himself_, was given explicit permission to stay. Vaughn shook his head once, clearing the memory out, before joining with Marko in the fray.

* * *

He'd definitely need some work. And the clever addition of the automatic weapons had ultimately been poor Sleipnir's downfall. It was a damned shame. Loki stared at the hangar doors with the same hesitancy he always did.

He feared constantly for the day when he would throw back the rusted metal painted with the deepest black and they will have been hit by a roving gang or, worse, Marshall's forces. Everything would be gone. The group didn't have much but if it were a rival insurgent group they'd be all too happy to take the scattered and pathetic contents of the hangar.

One thing they hopefully wouldn't find was the room carved into the wall that held the key to life and death in this new world. 'The new commodity; liquid gold; the best cocaine in the high rolling clubs New York; arc reactor technology. '

Loki's stony expression faltered slightly at that last mental comparison.

Weapons were great, useful, and could definitely come in handy when you were staring down an army. Money had no meaning here, nor did infamy or fame. The singular source of commodity outside of the walled city that held Marshall was something so simple and so common in his old life. People would kill for it and die without it. Water.

'_Simple as that_.' Loki mused as he gave a strong pull on the massive metal sliding door.

What he feared the most, though, was the militia finding the glaringly obvious item that took up the back half of the hangar. Casting a long shadow against the sterile looking concrete, a matte black F-22 was laid to rest in a state of disrepair.

Even the glass that shielded a would-be pilot from the elements-the one that had been painstakingly hand crafted by the same genius who had designed the aircraft in the first place-had long since been fractured with hairline cracks. And though it was not as majestic in it's appearance as it had once been, the jet was clearly an important piece of technology.

To Loki, it was much more. It was, and always had been, his only hope. He began the long trek to the back of the hangar, eyes resting on a single mark beneath the wing.

A signature, large enough to see from a bit of a distance, done in a jealous state but much appreciated now that the jealousy he recalled being so frustrated with as something he would have given anything to see. His smile grew as he came closer; close enough to read 'Property of Stark Industries' and see the detail in the handprint that had been placed instead of a logo.

Personalized. Possessed.

He was close enough to the jet, now, that he could see that the handprint was the only thing that had not begun to fade. He took advantage of it, reaching up and pressing a bloodstained palm to the print much smaller than his own.

If this was as close as he would come to the real thing…

No. He couldn't think that. Not yet.

He'd go back, gods, he would go running back home like a child lost in the darkness with a dimming candle and a prayer on his lips. And he would run straight into the embrace that belonged to the same man who's handprint remained unmarred by the 742 days of hell it had seen.

**Present Day - Our Earth**

It really hadn't been that long. What, forty-two days? Not bad. Not even two full months. So why did it feel more like the end of the world than any actual apocalypse ever had?

Tony gave a long sigh as he scrubbed a hand over his face and tossed the Starkpad onto the couch in a gesture of defeat. After Loki's disappearance, hundreds of astrophysicists had come out of the woodwork to try and take on the mammoth project of tracing the whereabouts of the lost pilot.

There were too many theories being thrown around for Tony to keep his head clear and most of them ended poorly. There were an immeasurable amount of universes out there, many of them ending in nothing but darkness and an entire lack of time, but nearly all of them ended in Loki's death.

For Tony, that wasn't an option. It would never be an option. Tony glanced out the large windows adjacent to the sprawling leather couch and realized that the sun was already peaking in between the sparse tree line, painting the room with a warm, golden hue.

"Shit." He hadn't thought it was that late. When he pulled himself to his feet, his entire body creaked, cracked, and protested against the motion and Tony gave a groan. "Jarv, time?"

He called out into the predawn glow only to be met with an unexpected silence. Again, Tony drug a hand down his olive skinned face, barely managing to suppress another moan. They had only just moved in to the new house for the summer and getting J.A.R.V.I.S set up throughout the house was a task that Tony had been rather distracted from.

Not having the AI at his beck and call was proving more difficult than Tony had anticipated and had him doing more running around than he had the energy for. Right now, he spent the majority of his time split between working with the Avengers and trying, with an obsessive desperation, to find Loki. But the engineer's focus had been steadily drifting from the former to the latter and his duties as Iron Man had fallen by the wayside.

This had come at the great dismay of Nick Fury as well as Maria Hill not to mention the rest of his team. But all of them, the Director included, didn't push him on it.

It had been nearly ten years since the team known as the Avengers (Or the Avengers Initiative if you asked Nick or Maria, still with the Avengers Initiative) had been formed. They had seen a lot of things, fought more wars than they could count one their hands, and most importantly, they had formed other bands of heroes to aid them.

And then….

And then Tony Stark's world turned completely on its axis all because of one godsdamned alien that dropped out of the sky one sweltering July afternoon.

Tony stripped off the tie he didn't even realize he'd been wearing-gold and green accents, like always-and settled it beside him on the couch. The couch Loki had insisted on having in the bedroom because it brought out the elegance of the master suite, regardless of how it was far more suited for one of the several lounges.

Gods, the thing was so massive it blocked the off-white lacquer French doors leading on to the balcony and probably would have been a fire hazard if Tony Stark had given a single shit about it being a fire hazard. A smile brought back the glint in dark eyes that had dimmed steadily over the past month as he recalled the event promptly after the couch had been delivered to the new home.

He stretched a hand out across the black leather, feeling the slight give beneath his fingers and recalling the way it had given beneath Loki's form as Tony had bent him over the back of it. Recalling the way something so typical as 'sleeping with the enemy' had turned into 'I love you, Anthony' and 'I do.'

It was in that moment that he really began to feel the weight of the yellow gold banded around his finger, large emeralds set against its sheen.

"Tony?"

Tony whipped around at the female voice coming from the hall, eyes falling on one of the few constants in a rather tumultuous life. Pepper Potts, acting CEO of Stark industries and one of his closest friends.

"Hey Pep." A tight smile tilted his lips as the sharp click of stilettos drifted across the room that was more of an entire apartment than a 'master suite'. Virginia Potts gave him a wry smile as she rounded on him but it quickly dissipated when she got close enough to see the moisture on his cheeks and the red rims of his eyes.

"Oh. Tony, I'm sorry. I can come back-"

The truth was, Tony hadn't even realized the tears had fallen from his eyes and run along his cheeks, collecting on the white dress shirt. He shook his head with a low, unsteady chuckle, drifting the back of his hand over his cheeks.

"Nah, Pep. I'm fine, just got lost."

He leaned against the high leather back of the couch, gesturing for Pepper to join him. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, perhaps wondering if Tony was simply being polite or if he really needed the company. He kept his gaze steady and strong; inviting but not pleading. So, she took the seat offered, resting a pale hand on his knee while trying to walk the thin line between comfort and pity.

The sun had finally capped the trees and the warmth of the light drew some form of comfort into the room, a companionable silence fell between them.

Exhaustion ebbed against Tony's consciousness and eventually the head crowned with dark auburn dropped fell back against the couch as he began to lose the battle with sleep.

"That stupid cake.."

Pepper's words pulled him from beneath a heavy blanket of darkness, immediately placing a vivid image in his head. He laughed, mirthful and chipper despite the situation.

"Yeah, well. He wanted this place so bad..."

"Yes, Tony, but most people would have said 'no'." She glanced at him, sporting a wide grin. "Most people wouldn't have bought it as a birthday gift complete with a replica cake."

Tony managed to give a bark of laughter at that. "Fuck me. That cake! All over the floor and me, might I add."

"He was so thrilled, though. His face was priceless, as if he didn't know what was coming, the spoiled brat." Pepper snickered at the very thought of the god's widening emerald eyes at the sight of the cake shaped identically to the house he'd been pestering Tony about for weeks.

Tony had gone strangely silent and Pepper knew instantly that he, too, had been brought back to those bright pools of green. Pepper gave Tony's knee a squeeze and made sure to catch chocolate brown eyes as she spoke.

"Tony, he's going to be…" she halted her words, knowing that empty promises were the last thing Tony needed. Useless sentiment planted seeds of unfounded hope and what good would that be if Loki really wasn't okay?

"We'll find him, Tony." She corrected.

Tony leaned back against the leather, gritting his teeth against the onslaught of emotions that threatened to renew the dried tears on his cheeks. With a grunt, Tony stood to his feet and drove trembling hands through unkempt, dark locks in a futile attempt to tame them.

The logical, engineering aspects of his brain that dealt with the Laws of Thermodynamics ever-evolving equations repeatedly informed him these outbursts were over reactions. The dried moisture on his face was a foolish and useless physical manifestation of the dread that was pooled in the pit of his stomach. The incessant ticks that kept his hands drumming along any open surface in the room served as an outlet for the gnawing panic that sent his heart rate sky high.

It was moments like these that rendered his logical brain aimless. It did not matter that he had seven and that he had successfully 'privatized world peace', or that he was a member of the most formidable force in the known world. None of that could bring Loki back. None of it could cross dimensions and universes; time and space, and bring him home.  
Tony gave another long sigh, expending forceful effort to turn the logical side of his brain into the dominant one for the time being.

"Fury on my ass today?" he asked with a sardonic expression to match the tone of his voice.  
Pepper raised a manicured brow and opened her mouth to reply but, before she could, Tony added, "Bad choice of words, but funny."

Pepper shook her head a little, a dry laugh in her voice as she spoke, "Would you consider six voicemails and a security override 'on your ass'?"  
Tony shrugged as he stripped off the navy suit jacket and tossed the thing onto the poster bed, moving on to the buttons of his dress shirt. "Not really. I'd consider that more of a third date than 'on my ass'."

The white shirt joined the navy jacket and Tony moved to the stained oak dresser in search of something more casual to have his inevitable meeting with Fury in. "Besides. Right now, I have no obligations to him, or really, to anyone."

He fumbled around in the tee shirt drawer, roughly shoving aside the few casual shirts Loki owned until he pulled out a simple grey shirt of his own. "Considering that the last major threat to our universe was single handedly-" he pulled the shirt over his head and slammed the drawer shut. "-taken out by my currently missing husband, Amelia _fucking_ Earhart."

His hand came down hard enough on the top of the dresser that the glass resting atop it toppled onto its side and began to roll precariously close to the edge. Tony glanced over at his CEO, who had folded her arms across her chest and was giving him an expression that was rather difficult to read.

She kept her light brown eyes trained hard on him, the same no nonsense expression that had constantly pulled Tony Stark back in line without ever having to lift a finger. The silence stretched between them, tense and thick, only to be punctuated by the shattering of the glass that had just met its end on the hardwood.

Pepper pursed her lips into a thin line and spoke in an even tone when she finally opened them, "Are you done?"

No, he wasn't done. He had absolutely every right to be pissed off right now and no one was going to tell him he didn't. And he wasn't going to be done until he had effectively exhausted his anger. Until every inch of the world and beyond it knew what it mean when someone of Tony Stark's was taken from him.

He would not stop until he could be cruel, and perhaps that gave evidence to how skewed his moral compass could become. But, this was his family.

This was his spouse and, because of that, no court would hold him, no jury would convict him- not when faced with the question of what they would do in his situation.

But sounding off at Pepper was not excusable in any situation so, Tony bent down and began to the collect the shards of glass scattered along the floor. With another click of her heels as she crossed the floor there were pale hands marked by delicate looking freckles helping to clear away the glass.

"I'll talk to Fury." he said, a dark tone seeping into his voice at the mere mention. Cornflower blue eyes lifted to his and there was a faint glint within them. It was hard to read, but, then again, Tony had never been that great at recognizing exactly what it was that other people wanted (likely because it was only within the past decade he'd actually began to care).

"I'm sure he'll appreciate it, Tony."

Tony scoffed, carefully settling a thick piece of glass between his finger and thumb as he spoke. "Fury doesn't 'appreciate'. He thinks he's entitled to everything."

Pepper didn't have a reply for that. While Tony often spoke out of anger, that was one thing that she couldn't entirely deny about Fury. But he had worked hard to be entitled and if the situation had been different, Pepper might have argued that point.

However, watching the man before her pick pieces of glass from the floor as though it were his shattered life, she didn't have the heart.

"Whenever you're ready, I'll keep the line open."

Tony nodded in reply as he watched her struggle with a sympathetic smile. Pepper didn't understand it. No one did, but it wasn't their fault, either. How many people could sympathize with losing their significant other to a goddamn anomaly of space and time?

"Thanks, Pep." He ended the conversation, if only to keep her from having to. He half heartedly added, "I'll be down in a few."

She finally managed that smile before leaving the room and Tony to the silence of it. The second the door clicked shut, Tony pushed the glass aside without care for the rivulets of blood creating manic patterns of red on his palms.

Y_ou can home now, princess. I can't rescue you if I don't know where you are…_

His own thoughts were almost unwelcome at this point. Tony sighed, kicking out his legs so they were splayed in front of him, and pushed his back against the dresser.


End file.
